


A Healer's Oath

by Beryll (Rynthjan)



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Haradrim - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynthjan/pseuds/Beryll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the orcs attacked Osgiliath Faramir did not get away</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Shazar looking like Colin Farrell, cause I think he'd make a great Haradrim.

"Fall back! Fall back!" 

Faramir was shouting the order at the top of his lungs, but still he wasn't sure if all of his men were able to hear it over the clamor of battle.

"To Minas Tirith! Back to Minas Tirith!"

He grabbed a man who was locked in combat with an especially ugly orc, shoving him hard after his fleeing comrades, finishing the orc skewering him on his sword.

Glancing back at the river he saw more and more orcs pour onto the shore. There was no doubting Osgiliath was lost. Again. And again it was he who had lost it. His heart bled when he thought of how much blood it had cost to regain the city. It bled even harder when he thought of Boromir's proud grin when he had retaken the city.

He felt like he was stabbing a dagger into his brother's back with giving up Osgiliath. But the fact remained that it would have been utter foolishness to sacrifice more men in a fight they could not possibly win.

His father would think differently. Fighting another pair of orcs, it was not their crude clubs impacting on his sword, sending waves of pain to his tiring arms that hurt. It was the look he could already see on his father's face. The disappointment. Again he had failed to show his worth.

He dispatched the second of the orcs and turned to follow his men, now precariously far behind them, when a loud 'thud' seemed to reverberate through all of his body. For a long moment, he just felt confusion but then he looked down and saw the point of a thick orcish arrow protrude from his chest. 'Shot in the back, perfect', was the thing he thought, when the pain began to spread as if burning oil had been poured into his veins.

He took another stumbling step, then he lost his balance on the uneven ground, falling, the pain of crashing to the ground nearly insignificant compared to the spear of fire that seemed to be lodged in his lung. Breathing seemed impossible and still his body tried, unwilling to die.

Darkness gathered around the edges of his vision, while he fought to get on his feet again. All he managed was to turn on his back, the arrow breaking off, jolting inside the wound, making him groan in pain.

The sight that greeted him was a grinning orc standing over him. An orc with a spear raised in his hand, about to be brought down to finish him off. With calm Faramir faced his death, wondering if he would meet his brother on the other side, strangely sure that he would find no reproach in Boromir's eyes when he had been so sure he could expect nothing else from his father.

The darkness intruded more and more. Soon all would be over.

But then another orc appeared next to the first one, catching hold of the first's arm when it was just about to descend.

"Wait!" the second orc growled, a grin splitting his face showing rows of rotten teeth. "Don't ya see what ya got 'ere? Dat's da steward's pup. He'll be useful!"

Faramir had the time to feel the bleakness of despair, before the darkness swallowed him.

\--

The first impression that swam into focus in his fogged mind when Faramir regained consciousness was the strange numbness where he was sure pain should have been.

"Da master wants da pup for questioning!" The rough orcish voice intruded next and brought home the fact that he had been captured with the force of a sledgehammer.

The urge to open his eyes, to move, to find a means of escape in mindless haste was overwhelming but Faramir managed to stay still by sheer force of will.

"He's still unconscious," a human voice answered. 

It took Faramir a moment to place the accent but then he realized it must be Haradrim. He remembered the soft singsong from times when there had been negotiations with Haradrim at his father's court.

"Wake 'im! Da master wants 'im now!" Again the orcish command, much too close for Faramir's liking.

"You delivered him not in the best of conditions. If I wake him now there's a good chance he will die. How will you explain that to your master?" There was an underlining of anger in the human voice now.

"How long?" From the deeper timbre of voice Faramir guessed there must be a second orc present.

"I don't know. At least till morning. Now get lost and let me do my work!"

"Ya little shit!" There was a shuffle and then a grunt of pain from the human. "Watch ya words! Or we eat ya bones!" Then the heavy steps of orcs departing.

Faramir allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He was safe from their paws for now it seemed. Still he kept his eyes carefully closed. After all it was obviously his unconsciousness that had saved him.

He heard somebody move closer and tried hard to keep his breathing even, to stay unmoving.

"You can just as well open your eyes," the Haradrim's voice said close to him. "I know you're awake."

Faramir opened his eyes slowly. The face above him swam into focus slowly and for a moment Faramir wondered if it was a face at all as there seemed to be nothing but fierce dark eyes. Then he realized that the man was wearing the traditional veil and headcloth of the Haradrim.

Faramir used the opportunity to quickly get a grasp of his surroundings. He was in a small tent, lying on a simple pallet. There were herbs hanging on line, a small heap of bandages, a bowl of water, sharp needles lying next to it on a clean cloth. A healer's tent.

The Haradrim was kneeling next to him, watching him intently. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Taking stock of his body's condition would have been the next thing on Faramir's mind anyway. He looked down and noticed that he had been stripped of his armor and under-tunic and that his chest was covered with a thick bandage. He didn't feel any pain at all, but a numbness in his right shoulder and arm. His mind felt slightly and rather pleasantly fogged still.

"Can you understand me?" the Haradrim asked, now a slight hint of worry in his voice.

Faramir nodded slowly, regretting the motion immediately as bright stars of light exploded in his vision, making him blink in confusion.

"Try not to move your head." the Haradrim said. "I used herbs to numb your pain while I took out the arrow and worked on the wound. It is strong stuff and goes to the head before it clears out of your system."

Faramir resisted the urge to nod again. That explained why he could not feel his arm. The thought that he might not regain use of it was frightening to say the least. But then again, maybe that should not worry him overly much as he was scheduled for questioning by the orcs in the morning.

"The arrow has pierced your right lung but I managed to stabilize it, you will heal and live." the Haradrim continued but then glanced over his shoulder at the tent flap. "Well... make that you would live..." he muttered his eyebrows drawing together into a scowl and Faramir was strangely sure he detected a note of anger in the healer's voice.

The Haradrim took a small vial from the pouch on his sash and opened it carefully. "Here, take a small sip of this." He said and held the vial to Faramir's lips, slowly lifting his head so he could drink.

Faramir felt like he should resist, but all things considered there really was no point. So he swallowed a bit of the draught. It tasted slightly bitter and strangely fresh, cleaning away the stale taste in his mouth, clearing his mind as well. An unpleasant tickling ran through his right arm, followed by a sharp stinging feeling in his right shoulder and he winced slightly.

The Haradrim took his right hand in his. It was a decidedly eerily sight, as Faramir could see the healer's fingers touch his skin but he couldn't feel a thing.

"Try to move your fingers, please." The Haradrim commanded in a gentle but insistent voice that seemed to be a trademark of all healers, no matter what nationality.

Faramir tried to concentrate on the simple task and felt a wave of relief when he watched his fingers twitch.

"Good," the healer said, satisfaction clearly evident in his voice. "No permanent damage. You will regain full use of your arm, with time and a little practice.

Faramir could not suppress a crooked grin. "I thank you, healer," he said, his voice a bit ragged. "But I fear I will not have that time."

Again the Haradrim glanced over his shoulder as if he expected the orcs to have returned already. A frown creased his brow above his dark eyes when he looked back at Faramir. For a long moment their eyes remained locked.

Faramir wondered at the multitude of varying emotions he noticed in the other's eyes. He had spoken to Haradrim before but they had always stayed cool and harsh. This man's eyes were fierce too, but they also reflected deep emotion. Curiosity stirred in his scholar's mind, despite his dire situation.

"I did not know the Haradrim had healers at all." he carefully ventured, "I thought they value death in battle over life in general."

The healer snorted in obvious disgust. "That is true. A healer is scorned and counted as a coward among the mighty Haradrim. He is counted barely above a woman. Still this healer values life over death. Be assured of that. And they do make use of me, if only to rent my work to the orcs who actually value me higher than my own people do."

Faramir felt his curiosity boil, but he was sure that asking the man why he had chosen a life ridiculed by his own people would have been too bold.

"And you, prince of Gondor? How did you come by an arrow in your back? Isn't the courage of the warriors of Gondor just as foolish and proud as that of the Haradrim? How come you had enough sense to turn around and flee?"

Faramir blinked at the healer in surprise, not entirely sure if he had been insulted or commended.

Then he noticed a sparkle in the other's eyes that made him sure the healer was grinning behind his veil and a slow smile spread on his face as well.

"Even my father counts me a coward, no matter what I do," he answered, feeling a strange kinship with the Haradrim, "so why try to attain glory that is beyond my reach anyway?" Then he sighed softly. "And I had to get my men to safety. Just like you I value life over death."

The Haradrim nodded, the frown reappearing on his brow. "I somehow feared you would say something like that," he muttered, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. "In the morning those two orcs will return to take you to questioning," he continued. "You will be very lucky if you die a quick death but it's not likely. The master they were talking of is the King of the Nazgul."

A shudder ran through Faramir, followed by a piercing pain in his wounded shoulder. To face a Nazgul in combat was a horror. To face one bound and helpless was beyond Faramir's imagination. Cold fear gripped his heart.

"However, there is one thing which stands between you and that monster." Compassion was in the healer's eyes when he spoke on. "I have sworn the healer's oath of my people and it forbids me to allow harm to come to my patients until they are released from my care. And you are, by no means, healed enough to be released."

Faramir stared at him in disbelief. It was beyond him why a Haradrim - Gondor's sworn enemy - should protect him.

The man opposite him snorted softly, one of his expressionate eyebrows rising slightly. "Is it so unlikely that I should know honor, even if I am just a healer? To deliver another human into the hands of an orc... that is despicable."

Drawing a deep breath, Faramir tried to regain his composure. "It is not the fact that you are a healer," he said. "But that you are an enemy."

Again mirth sparkled in the other's eyes. "I have no quarrel with you, prince. Just because I was dragged out of my village to serve the Haradrim army as a trading token with the orcs does not make me their willing ally or your enemy."

Slowly realization that this man was not here because he wanted to dawned on Faramir. "Still I doubt there is much you can do to help me, brave healer," he said.

"Ah, you underestimate me, prince." the Haradrim said and Faramir could now hear the smile in his voice. "Just because I am not strong of arm doesn't mean that I am weak of mind as well. It may not be a simple feat to get you out of this camp alive, but it is not impossible either."

His words sparked hope in Faramir's heart and he sat up straighter. His right arm still felt numb, but he felt the strength of desperation spread through the rest of his body. If he made it back to Minas Tirith he would be able to rest maybe, but now he needed to remain sharp. And that was something he was good at, despite everything his father thought of him.

"So what is your plan?" he asked.

"You will put on my clothes and walk out," the Haradrim answered.

Faramir blinked at him in surprise, his agile mind quickly processing all the possible routes of escape and then informing him that this truly was the best idea.

"What about you?" Faramir asked, unable to simply accept this generous offer. "They will not be happy that you let me get away."

"If you will be so kind to knock me unconscious, I will only hear endless insults about my inability to even restrain a wounded man and get a sound beating. But apart from that I should be fine. I am too valuable to them to just kill and to insignificant for the higher ups to notice." He sighed softly. "And it is not like they really need any of the intelligence you may provide. Gondor is doomed anyway."

Faramir felt inclined to agree but he did not say so. No matter how impossible the odds he still had to try to protect his people.

The Haradrim started to peel out of his robes and Faramir watched with much curiosity as the man before him shed his veil, revealing his face. He was quite handsome, a fierceness to his features that would have befitted any warrior and Faramir mused, that his courage certainly matched that of any other Haradrim and that their scorn was not well placed.

The healer then helped Faramir put on the robes and don the headcloth and veil, now standing before Faramir in a simple loincloth that showed off a fit body, for a moment making another kind of curiosity stir in Faramir's loins. He quickly suppressed that mad notion. Now really was not the time.

"Will you tell me your name, so I will know who I owe my life to." Faramir asked when the disguise was in place.

The healer again smiled and this time Faramir saw his face lighten up in the expression, yet again touching him in unexpected ways.

"Shazar," the man said.

Faramir bowed his head. "I will remember your courage as long as I live," he replied.

"However short that may be," Shazar answered, his smile still in place. "Now if you will please hit me real hard. It would be nice if you managed to get me unconscious in one try..."

Faramir nodded and then punched the other man's temple as hard as he could with his left hand. The blow was maybe not delivered with as much expertise as would have been possible had he had use of his right arm but it still served its purpose as the healer crumbled to the ground. Faramir was just able to catch him.

He put the other man down gently, his hands lingering on the naked skin a moment too long. Shazar did look beautiful, his darker skin exotic to Faramir, his face now relaxed and strangely sweet.

'May the Valar protect you', Faramir thought, not sure if the Haradrim even believed in the Valar. And then he bent down and quickly placed a kiss on the unconscious man's lips. 'And may they grant me opportunity to repay your kindness.'

Then he stood up straight, gathered his courage and then walked out of the tent with all the coolness one would have expected of a proud Haradrim.


	2. Chapter 2

The black clouds shrouding the sky to the east were blocking the light of the rising morning sun but that wasn't the reason for the bleakness Faramir felt in his heart.

He was standing on the battlements above the destroyed main gate of the city, watching line after line of the forces of Gondor depart to fight a desperate battle for time at the black gates of Mordor. And he was staying behind.

It rankled to be forced to remain. Of course he knew that it was only sensible. That in his wounded state he would not be much help in a battle that was more like an open invitation to doom anyway. That his sharp mind would be of much more use back here in Minas Tirith, rebuilding the defenses.

After all he had agreed with the king readily enough when he had been asked to oversee the many necessary tasks. There had been pride in his heart that the king should entrust him with duties that his father would have thought far above his younger son's abilities.

But watching them march out now he wished for nothing but to be at his king's side.

His king. 

The thought rolled around his head. He had a king now. A man who had come to Minas Tirith like a silver light out of darkness, a man who had brought rescue in Gondor's most desperate battle. A man who inspired with his calmness and sharp mind. The man they had all so needed that there hadn't been a moment of hesitation when his identity had been revealed. He had been accepted instantly.

Still, the king had refused to enter Minas Tirith or claim what was rightfully his till the only remaining member of the Steward family had been able to pay his respects and officially welcome him.

Faramir still felt in awe of such wisdom and restraint.

He did not feel he deserved such considerate treatment when he surveyed what the king had done for Gondor in the short time he was present and what he himself had accomplished.

Sneaking out of the orc camp had been easier than he would have expected. There was not much order in their forces, no matter how hard their overseers tried to keep them under control. Orcs were made to be a mad plundering horde, they would never make a good army. Especially as they were all rapidly moving out to fight. Faramir had just let them sweep him with them, trying to stay away from the Haradrim forces.

Getting back to his own people had proven more difficult. The battle on the Pellenor fields had been raging for more than a day, when he first surveyed it. From the wrong side of the battlefield. Even had he been unharmed he would have chosen the stealthy way around the battlefield rather than trying to enter the fray. Chances would have been good that he would have been killed by his own people.

He had reached the walls of Minas Tirith when the forces of Rohan had arrived on the scene. In the ensuing confusion he had shed most of his disguise and slipped back into the city through the destroyed gates, picked up a sword and fought his way back up to the citadel. 

It hadn't taken him long to find out that Mithrandir was in charge of the defense of the city. They had told him that the wizard had arrived a few days before and that without him the city would have fallen by now. There had been rumors that the Steward had committed suicide when he heard that his second son was missing in battle but nobody had been able to confirm them.

Finding Mithrandir had proven difficult as the strength of despair that had kept Faramir going for so long had finally begun to desert his exhausted body.

He had found the wizard on the battlements, shouting orders to the soldiers of Gondor as if he had done so all his life with the proud Gondorian warriors obeying him and following his word like Faramir had only seen them fight when they were led by his brother.

Seeing that his home was well defended Faramir had finally succumbed to his exhaustion and more or less collapsed into Mithrandir's arms.

When he had woken up in the Houses of Healing the battle had been over. Once again Gondor had prevailed against impossible odds and defended Middle Earth from the darkness of Mordor. At least momentarily.

Still all that Faramir found in his heart had been a strange numb gratitude. Because the rumors about his father had proven to be true. And Faramir could not help asking himself, why his father had never been able to give him one word of praise when he had been alive and still felt such deep sorrow at his last son going missing, that he actually ended his own life. His lack of strength and courage shamed Faramir but at the same time he felt warmed by the knowledge that maybe his father had loved him after all.

And those conflicting emotions were in his heart still. Slowly he turned away from the display, closing his eyes. He had survived. Just as Gondor, against all odds, he was still breathing. And he would have to learn to deal with all the changes.

He was grateful, when an aide coughed softly next to him, trying to catch his attention. Work had always been what took his mind off all that was wrong with his life.

"Yes?" he asked the man, noting that he was wearing his arm in a sling. Truly only the wounded had been left behind.

"Sir, I... uhm..." the man nervously shuffled his feet, closely studying the floor.

"What is it?" Faramir asked again, his voice filled with the patience and care that had won him the trust of so many men.

"Sir, I just was at the Houses of Healing to have my broken arm checked and... well... it was rather strange... there was a Haradrim who was helping out the healers there... and he checked my arm... and as if that wasn't strange enough... he even spoke Westeron... and he said... he told me should I by chance meet you to tell you he was there. Sorry to disturb you with such nonsense, sir..."

The man had been staring at his own feet while he spoke. When he glanced up now to gauge the reaction of his commander his eyes went wide as Faramir was grinning widely.

"He is? Dear Valar, man, that is the best news I have gotten today." he said, the bleakness he had felt lifted from his soul like a grey shroud. He had not even thought about the Haradrim healer he owed his life to since he had woken up. But now the memory came flooding back. And that memory included the feeling of their lips touching. And in a world full of mad change, Faramir felt a reckless hope grab his heart as well.

He was amazed at the force of his emotions. What had been a stirring of passion when he had kissed the unconscious healer had somehow turned into much more while it lay unnoticed in his heart when his mind had been on his duties.

And suddenly all his duties could wait another hour as he made his way up the circles of the city to the Houses of Healing. And now that his mind was hopeful the city seemed to have changed as well. Where before he had seen ruin and death he now noticed the people starting to clean out and rebuild, the hope in his own heart reflected in their faces.

That was probably why it took him several hours to actually get to the top of the city. As he stopped in countless places to talk to people he knew, to help out where he could. Realizing that these were his people all over again, now even more than ever before as Boromir, as well his father were gone.

The sun was high in the sky, finally gifting the city with some light, when Faramir entered the Houses of Healing. Even here things seemed brighter than they had on his last visit. Still there were dreadfully many patients and there were quite a few that would probably not make it, but the stench of death and blood had lessened, as everybody had been cared for and now there was only the work of keeping them getting better.

Still everybody was quite busy and it took a while for anybody to notice him. The master healer finally approached Faramir, wiping his hands on a towel while talking to one of his aids at the same time.

"Lord Faramir, what can I do for you? Does your wound pain you?" he asked then.

Faramir shook his head, smiling. "No, I'm as fine as can be expected. I am looking for somebody. I have been told that there is a Haradrim helping out in your house. Can you tell me where I can find him?"

A frown appeared on the master healer's brow almost instantly. "He is doing a good job and he has not hurt anybody, my lord." The master healer stated with quite some hostility in his voice. "There is really absolutely no need to have him removed."

Faramir smiled. "You misunderstand, master, I have no intention of stealing his help from you. I just wish to meet him."

Now the master healer's expression changed to puzzlement but he nodded slowly. "He is in the herbal garden, I think."

Faramir only took the time to nod his thanks, before quickly making his way through the main building, passing into the gardens surrounding the Houses of Healing. Again he had to stop here and there to greet soldiers he knew but finally he stepped into the walled premise of the herbal garden.

His quarry was not hard to spot. A sole person was kneeling between orderly rows of plants, carefully digging out some roots with a small knife. And even though the man was wearing dark pants and a shirt that looked a bit too large instead of traditional Haradrim garb, Faramir immediately recognized the mop of black hair and the darker skin, even though he could not see the face. There was no doubt in his heart.

"Shazar?" he said softly.

Immediately the man's head turned to face him and Faramir winced when he noticed the many bruises. Obviously the battle had not passed the healer by without leaving marks.

But the smile spreading on the same face only moments later was as bright as Faramir remembered it and there was mirth sparkling in his dark eyes again.

"Prince Faramir," he said, one of his eyebrows rising in mocking surprise, "one would think you had better things to do than personally checking on a prisoner of war."

Faramir returned the smile and walked over to the other man. "It would seem to me that you have already found a way to rescue yourself from imprisonment so I fear I can not repay your kindness by providing a means of escape." he said.

"I have to admit that the people of Gondor are quite welcoming. Or they were when they found out that my skills could be of use to them." Shazar got up slowly and a bit stiffly, brushing dirt from his pants. "But the same can be said about orcs," he added with a crooked grin.

The need to touch the Haradrim to convince himself that he was really there was overwhelming but Faramir kept himself in check. 

"Did they hurt you badly, when they found me gone?" he asked instead.

The healer winced in memory. "Well... let's say they were not exactly pleased. But as I said, they let me live."

Then he looked at Faramir with the typical healer's expression. "How is your wound? I suppose you did not exactly go easy on yourself."

Faramir smiled guiltily. "No, I did not. But I'm fine. You did good work, obviously."

Shazar sighed dramatically. "Every healer's gripe with a soldier... they never take care of themselves. By all rights you should be flat on your back and not move for at least a week."

A shudder ran through Faramir as the Haradrim's words took on a meaning he had certainly not intended in Faramir's mind. And to his shame he felt heat creep up his face at the indecent thoughts that were suddenly crowding his mind.

And that he suddenly felt the other man's hand grab his shoulder in worry did not exactly help either.

"Prince? Are you okay?" the healer asked worriedly.

Faramir nodded mutely, not trusting his own voice, drawing a deep breath to calm himself.

"Yes," he then answered, "still weaker than I thought, I guess." He dared to look up and meet the gentle eyes of the healer, wondering if there was any hope for the mad desire that had made him hurry here. But all he found was kindness.

"Why did you want to see me?" he asked, trying to change the subject to safer grounds.

Shazar smiled. "I may not be locked up with your other captured Haradrim - thank goodness, they'd probably eat me alive - but right now I'm only allowed to help out a bit. There's so much more I could do here. Your healers know much lore that I am unfamiliar with and they could learn just as much from me. I... well... you said you owe me, so I was wondering if you'd put in a word for me with the master healer." His smile grew brighter and pleading in such a cute way that Faramir thought his heart must melt at such a sight.

"Of course I will." he said immediately. "And I think the master healer will be pleased. He seems to be quite protective of you."

The Haradrim nodded. "Yes. Thank you, prince. This means much to me. And I do have to say that your people have a lot more appreciation for a healer than mine."

Then his eye grew gentle again and Faramir thought that he could almost detect a bit more than professional care in them.

"You know, I feared for you. I was not sure at all you would make it back to your own people safely. And I have to admit I was rather surprised Gondor prevailed. Seems you always got another ace up your sleeve. I'm glad to see you well. Very glad."

Faramir swallowed hard. This was so much what he wanted to hear that his mouth felt dry. In this moment he desperately wished he were a tiny bit more like Boromir had been. Acting before thinking would have been extremely useful now. He drew another deep breath, trying to find courage to admit to the other man what was in his heart in some way. He was so sure he would be rejected but still his heart refused to shut up.

"I'm glad you survived too." he replied carefully. "Though I have to say that you would probably be safer returning to your own people. We may have won the battle but we may still lose the war."

The Haradrim just shrugged. "The people of Gondor seem to have a lot of faith in their new king. There is a saying among my people. 'Faith gives you wings.' With that much faith he will be able to fly pretty high." Mirth sparkled in Shazar's eyes when he added: "And should he fall after all... I'm sure it will be a spectacular sight. Wouldn't want to miss that..."

That made Faramir laugh. "You are insolent, Haradrim. Any soldier of Gondor would be in for a beating for such a comment."

Shazar laughed with him. "Been there, done that," he said, grinning.

For a long moment they just stood there quietly till the silence began to feel awkward.

"Well... I guess I should be getting back to my duties..." Faramir said finally, feeling decidedly unhappy and like a coward but unable to come up with a way to express what he felt.

The healer nodded. "Yes, prince, so should I. But do not forget to come back to have your wound checked. It wouldn't do if it started to fester. After all I want to leave a good impression with my work."

"I will." Faramir said. "And I will talk to the master healer on my way out."

"Thank you." Shazar crossed his arms in front of his chest, bowing in Haradrim fashion. Then started to turn back to the roots he had been digging at.

And Faramir just acted. Putting a hand on the other man's shoulder he turned him around again, leaning forward and kissing him soundly on the lips, closing his eyes quickly not to see the disgust that might possibly form on the healer's face.

Faramir did not dare to pull the other closer to him but he kissed him with all the passion he felt and to his immense surprise the Haradrim did not pull back. He did not exactly return the kiss either but at least he allowed Faramir his moment of hope. 

It took quite a bit of strength of will to finally separate from the kiss. And even more to open his eyes to face what he had done.

Faramir's heart made a painful leap, when he realized that the expression on Shazar's face was not disgust but simple surprise. And a shiver ran down Faramir's spine when the healer slowly licked his lips as if he was trying to get a taste of what had just happened to him.

"That was... unexpected," he finally said, still no obvious rejection in his expression, nurturing Faramir's hope.

And then a slow smile spread on the Haradrim's face and Shazar's next words made Faramir's heart melt in happiness: "Maybe there is more to learn in Minas Tirith than healer's lore." he said. Then he slightly cocked his head, a sweet, almost shy look in his dark eyes. "Though I have to admit that in this regard I fear there is no knowledge I may share, prince."

And Faramir marveled at the trust in this admission, fierce protectiveness joining the deep longing he felt for the other man.

"You... you would be... you'd give it a chance?" he asked, feeling like a foolish teenager but immensely happy nonetheless.

The healer shrugged, mirth again returning to his eyes. "Yes." he said. "Though I have to say I don't really see why a Gondorian prince would find value in a Haradrim who is not even a warrior."

A hundred replies came to Faramir's mind which would all have explained how much more value there was in a healer with so much gentleness and honor in his heart. But in the end Faramir decided that all those could wait for another time.

So instead of saying anything he just drew Shazar into his arms, hugging him close. There was a moment's resistance but then the healer relaxed into the embrace and Faramir was allowed to revel in the feeling of the other's warm body pressing against his.

And for the first time in his life he ceased worrying about the future and just enjoyed the happiness of the moment.


End file.
